


Tea Reversal

by inasentimentalmood



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Sick Fic, domestic fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inasentimentalmood/pseuds/inasentimentalmood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan is sick and Sherlock has just the thing to make her well: tea! The problem is, he made it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Reversal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fattyfat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fattyfat/gifts).



> Dedicated to my best friend fattyfat for Valentine's Day. I was on a roll and remembered I owed you this one! Love you, dearest!

“Watson,” Sherlock knocks on her bedroom door, then looks down at his watch. “We are needed at the police station. Would you be so kind as to rouse yourself from slumber?” It’s 9:30am, and she’s usually at least brushing her teeth or pouring her first cup of coffee by now. “Watson?” He pauses for a beat before gingerly opening the door. He’s learned from past attempts at intruding upon her domain that without permission she will most likely chuck whichever item closest to her directly at his head.

He rounds his way to her bedside and she has still not stirred. He wonders out loud, “Either dead, unconscious or…sick.” A hand on her forehead confirms it. He rocks back on his heels. “Sick.”

Joan begins to stir. Her eyes are glassy when she looks up at her partner. As she moves to sit up, Sherlock insists that she stay put. “No, Watson, I have just the thing.” He is bounding down to the kitchen before she can even say good morning. 

* * *

 He carries the tray with pride and places it before her.

“May I present the tea that shall have you up on your feet in no time.” She pours herself a cup, adding honey that he has collected from his bees. She stirs.

“How thoughtful of you to make my mom’s tea,” she says, raising the mug to her lips.

“Oh. It’s not your mother’s tea, though I haven’t forgotten the wonders it did for me when I had fallen ill back when we were initially getting to know each other. However, there is… always room for improvement, wouldn’t you say? You hold in your hands a formula of my own making, which, I believe, far surpasses the original. Go on, try it,” he insists with confidence.

Joan is skeptical but her judgment is slightly clouded by the fever, so she takes a sip anyway.

She fights all she can to be polite and appreciative but nevertheless coughs is back up immediately.

“No, no, no, Watson, that will not do!” He rushes to hand her a napkin.

“Is this _fermented_?!” She has never tasted anything so vile in her entire life. She may vomit, but not due to her present illness.

“I hadn’t quite considered that approach. Watson, you may have a knack for this!” He is lost in thought for a moment dreaming of an even better homeopathic tea to soothe her, but snaps out of it quickly. “My dear Watson, this tea has the essential ingredients present in several empirically tested remedies! My chat room colleagues have assured me time and again that they are without doubt of the finest quality and utmost efficacy!”

“Really,” she deadpans.

“I assure you.”

She takes one look at him and generously decides to humor him, gamely downing a few large swigs while pinching her nose. She’s almost gagging, fighting the gagging and holding it in.

“There,” Sherlock says, clearly pleased and utterly convinced that his concoction will undoubtedly heal her. He rises to take his leave. Joan just rolls over, hoping to sleep her illness (and whatever funky effects of the tea) off.

* * *

The next morning, after no signs of improvement from Sherlock’s magical tea, she wakes to find a cup of steaming liquid on her bed stand. She cautiously brings it up to her nose and takes a whiff. It’s her mom’s tea.

Sherlock knows when to admit defeat.


End file.
